Only Art Means Anything.

My Favorite Journey Is Looking Out The Window.

More Is Happening Out There Than We Are Aware Of. It Is Possibly Due To Some Unknown Direful Circumstance.

Mr Earbrass Stands On The Terrace At Twilight. It Is Bleak; It Is Cold; And The Virtue Has Gone Out Of Everything. Words Drift Through His Mind: Anguish Turnips Conjunctions Illness Defeat String Parties No Parties Urns Desuetude Disaffection Claws Loss Trebizond Napkins Shame Stones Distance Fever Antipodes Mush Glaciers Incoherence Labels Miasma Amputation Tides Deceit Mourning Elsewards.

Ideally, If Anything [was] Any Good, It Would Be Indescribable.

Some Tiny Creature, Mad With Wrath, Is Coming Nearer On The Path.